A WEIRD GAME
Baseball Joe was startled and showed it plainly.
"What do you mean?" he asked, as his mind ran over the names of his
team-mates.
"Just what I say," replied McRae. "I tell you, Joe, somebody's getting in
his fine work with our boys and I know it."
"Where's your proof?" asked Joe. "I hate to think that any of our fellows
would welch on their contracts."
"So do I," returned McRae. "We've been like one big family, and I've
always tried to treat the boys right. I've got a rough tongue, as
everybody knows, and in a hot game I've called them down many a time when
they've made bonehead plays. But at the same time I've tried to be just,
and I've never given any of them the worst end of the deal. They've been
paid good money, and I've carried them along sometimes when other managers
would have let them go."
"You've been white all right," assented Joe warmly. He recalled an
occasion when a muff by a luckless center-fielder had lost a World Series
and fifty thousand dollars for the team, and yet McRae had "stood the
gaff" and never said a word, because he knew the man was trying to do his
best.
"I'm telling this to you, Joe," went on McRae, "because I want you to help
me out. You've proved yourself true blue when you were put to the test. I
know you'll do all you can to hold the boys in the traces. They all like
you and feel that they owe you a lot because it was your pitching that
pulled us through the World's Series. Besides, they'll be more impressed
by what you say than by the talk I'd give them. They figure that I'm the
manager and am only looking after my own interests, and for that reason
what I say has less effect."
"I'll stand by you, Mac," returned Joe, "and help you in any way I can.
Who are the boys that you think are trying to break loose?"
"There are three of them," replied McRae. "Iredell, Curry and Burkett, and
all three of them are stars, as you know as well as I do."
"They're cracks, every one of them," agreed Joe. "And they're among the
last men that I'd suspect of doing anything of the kind. What makes you
think they've been approached?"
"A lot of things," replied McRae. "In the first place, I have noticed that
they are stiff and offish in their manner when I speak to them. Then, too,
I've come across them several times lately with their heads together, and
when they saw me coming they'd break apart and start talking of something
else, as if I had interrupted them. Beside that, all three have struck me
lately for a raise in salary next season."
"That's nothing new for ball players," said Joe, with a smile.
"No," admitted McRae, an answering smile relieving the gravity of his face
for the moment. "And I stand ready of my own accord to give the boys a
substantial increase on last year's pay because of their winning the
pennant. But what these three asked for was beyond all reason, and made me
think there was a nigger in the woodpile. They either had had a big offer
from somebody else and were using that as a club to hold me up with, or
else they were just trying to give themselves a better excuse for
jumping."
"How long do their contracts have to run?" asked Joe.
"Iredell has one year more and Curry and Burkett are signed up for two
years yet," replied the Giants' manager. "Of course I could try to hold
them to their contracts, but you know as well as I do that baseball
contracts are more a matter of honesty than of legal obligation. If a man
is straight, he'll keep it, if he's crooked, he'll break it. And you know
what a hole it would leave in the Giant team if those three men went over
the fence. There isn't a heavier slugger in the team than Burkett, except
Larry. His batting average this year was .332, and as a fielding first
baseman he's the class of the league."
"You're right there," acquiesced Joe, as he recalled the ease and
precision with which Burkett took them on either side and dug them out of
the dirt. "He's saved a game for me many and many a time."
"As for Iredell," went on McRae, "he hasn't his equal in playing short and
in covering second as the pivot for a double play. And nobody has played
the infield as Curry does since I've been manager of the team."
"It would certainly break the Giants all up to lose the three of them,"
agreed Joe. "But we haven't lost them yet. Remember that the game isn't
over till the last man is out in the ninth inning."
"I know that. You've helped me win two fights this year, Joe, one for the
championship of the league and the other for the championship of the
world. Now I'm counting on you to help me win a third, perhaps the hardest
of them all."
"Put 'er there, Mac," said Joe, extending his hand. "Shake--I'm with you
till the cows come home."
"Of course, they'll be willing to put up big money, Joe. You know that
already."
"It doesn't make a particle of difference, Mac, how much money they put
up," returned the crack pitcher warmly. "There isn't enough cash in the
U. S. treasury to tempt me."
"I know that, Joe. And I only wish that I could be as certain of the rest
of the players."
"Well, of course, I can't speak for the others. But you can be sure that
I'll use my influence on the right side every time. Some of them may
weaken and break away, but I doubt very much if they'll be any of your
main-stays. If I were you, Mac, I wouldn't let this worry me too much."
"Yes, I know it's getting on my nerves, Joe, because, you see, it means so
much to me. But having you on my side has braced me up a good deal," went
on the manager.
They shook hands warmly, and McRae, evidently encouraged and braced by the
talk with his star pitcher, made his way back to his own immediate party.
The teams were slated to play in Salt Lake City and in Ogden. In both
places they "cleaned up" easily, and it was not until a few days later
when they reached the slope that they encountered opposition that made
them exert themselves to win.
At Bakersfield, with Jim in the box, the game went to eleven innings
before it was finally placed to the credit of the Giants by a score of
three to two. The 'Frisco team also put up a stiff fight for eight
innings, but were overwhelmed by a storm of hits which rained from Giant
bats in the ninth.
The game with Oakland was the last on the schedule before the teams left
for the Orient, and an enormous crowd was in attendance.
Joe was in the box for the All-American team. He was in fine form, and
held the home team down easily until the fifth inning, but the Oaklands
also, undaunted by the reputation of their adversaries, and under the
guidance of a manager who had formerly been a famous first baseman of the
Chicago team, were also out to win if possible, and with first-class
pitching and supported by errorless fielding, they held their redoubtable
opponents on even terms.
At the end of the fifth, neither team had scored, although the Giants had
threatened to do so on two separate occasions. A singular condition
developed in the sixth. It was the Giants' turn at bat and Curry had
reached first on a clean single to right. A neat sacrifice by Joe advanced
him to second. A minute later he stole third, sliding feet first into the
bag and narrowly escaping the ball in the third baseman's hand.
With only one out and Larry coming to the bat, the prospects for a run
were bright.
Larry let the first go by, but swung at the second, which was coming
straight to the plate. His savage lunge caught the ball on the underside,
and it went soaring through the air to a tremendous height.
Both the second and third baseman started for the ball. It looked as
though neither would be able to reach it, and Curry ran half-way down the
line between third and home, awaiting the result. If the ball were caught
he figured that he would easily have time to get back to third. If it were
dropped, he could make home and score.
The third baseman got under the descending ball, but it was coming from
such a height that it was difficult to judge. It slipped through his
fingers, but instead of falling to the ground, went plump into the pocket
of his baseball shirt.
He tugged desperately to get it out, at the same time running toward
Curry, who danced about on the line between third and home in an agony of
indecision. Was the ball caught or not? If it were, he would have to
return to third. If it were not, he must make a break for home.
The teams were all shouting now, while the crowd went into convulsions.
The third baseman reached Curry and grabbed him with one hand, while with
the other he frantically tried to get the ball from his pocket and clap
it on him. But the ball stuck, and in the mixup both players fell to the
ground and rolled over and over.
Larry, in the meanwhile, was tearing round the bases, but he himself
wasn't sure whether he was really out or whether he ought to strike for
home. He reached third and pulled up there, still in the throes of doubt.
He could have easily gone on past the struggling combatants, but in that
case, if Curry were finally declared not out, Larry would also be out for
having passed him and got home first.
On the other hand, if Curry should finally escape and get back to third,
one of them would still be out because he was occupying the bag to which
his comrade was entitled. He did not really know whether he was running
for exercise or to score a run.
It was the funniest mixup that even the veteran players had ever seen on a
ball field, and as for the crowd they were wild with joy.
The third baseman, finding that Curry was about to get away from him and
unable to get the ball out of his pocket, finally threw his arms about him
and hugged him close in the wild hope that some part of the protruding
ball would touch his prisoner's person and thus put him out.
The sight of those burly gladiators, locked in a fond embrace, threatened
the sanity of the onlookers, but the farce was ended when Curry finally
wriggled out from the anaconda grasp of his opponent and took a chance for
the plate.
Then there was a hot debate, as the umpire, himself laughing until the
tears ran down his face, tried to solve the situation. Had Curry been
touched by the ball, or had he not? Had the ball been caught or not?
Players on both sides tugged at him as they debated the matter _pro_ and
_con_.
"I don't know what that umpire's name is," grinned Jim to Joe, who was
weak with laughter, "but I know what it ought to be."
"What?" asked Joe.
"Solomon," chuckled Jim.